Friday, May 8, 2015

To The Mothers by Tyler Knott Gregson(Inspirational Mother poem)

Richard Clayderman-Lettre à ma mère(letter To my Mother)

Alena Root Photography

To The Mothers
Tyler Knott Gregson

This is an ode to all of those
that have never asked for one.
A thank you in words to all of those
that do not do what they do so well
for the thanking.
This is to the mothers.
This is to the ones who match our first
scream with their loudest scream;
who harmonize in our shared pain and joy
and terrified wonder when life begins.

This is to the mothers.
To the ones who stay up late and wake up early
and always know the distance between
their soft humming song and our
tired ears.To the lips that find
their way to our foreheads and know,
somehow always know, if too much heat
is living in our skin.
To the hands that spread the jam
on the bread and the mesmerizing
patient removal of the crust we just
cannot stomach.

This is to the mothers.
To the ones who shout the loudest
and fight the hardest and sacrifice
the most to keep the smiles glued
to our faces and the magic spinning through
our days.To the pride they have for us
that cannot fit inside after all they
have endured.To the leaking of it
out their eyes and onto the backs of their
hands, to the trails of makeup left behind
as they smile through those tears and somehow
always manage a laugh.This is to
the patience and perseverance and
unyielding promise that at any moment
they would give up their lives
to protect ours.

This is to the mothers.
To the single mom’s working four jobs
to put the cheese in the mac and
the apple back into the juice
so their children,like birds in
a nest, can find food in their mouths
and pillows under their heads.To the dreams
put on hold and the complete and total rearrangement
of all priority.
This is to the stay-at-home moms and those that
find the energy to go to work every day;to the widows and the happily married.To the young mothers and those
that deal with the unexpected announcement of a new
arrival far later than they ever anticipated.

This is to the mothers.
This is to the sack lunches
and sleepover parties,to the soccer games
and oranges slices at halftime.This is
to the hot chocolate after snowy walks
and the arguing with the umpire at the
little league game.To the frosting of
birthday cakes and the candles that are
always lit on time; to the Easter egg hunts
the slip-n-slides and the iced tea
on summer days.

This is to the ones that show us the way
to finding our own way.To the cutting
of the cord, quite literally the first time
and even more painfully and metaphorically
the second time around.To the mothers
who become grandmothers and great-grandmothers
and if time is gentle enough,live to see
the children of their children have
children of their own.To the love.

My goodness to the love that never stops
and comes from somewhere only mothers
have seen and know the secret location of.
To the love that grows stronger as their
hands grow weaker and the spread of jam
becomes slower and the Easter eggs get easier
to find and sack lunches no longer need making.
This is to the way the tears look falling from
the smile lines around their eyes
and the mascara that just might always be
smeared with the remains of their pride for
all they have created.
This is to the mothers.

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